


Witchcraft

by Trapper



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo is So Done, I'm Sorry Tolkien, M/M, Slow Burn, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trapper/pseuds/Trapper
Summary: During the Second Age, Sauron created Witches; dark, powerful beings whose magic could do terrible things. Three of the four fell with Sauron, killed by the forces of Men and Elves, but one was lost -  rumored to have hidden in the corners of the world, biding its time.Bilbo lives peacefully in Bag End. He's a reasonable cook, an excellent writer, and is Shire's best gardener.He also happens to the Last Witch of Morgul, but no one needs to know that.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin's Company, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 70
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

**They came in the beginning of the Second Age, atop white wolves and clad in black steel.**

**Each spell struck down armies, and each curse burned cities.**

**Three out of the four fell in the Last War, pierced through the heart by elven steel.**

**One remains in hiding, lost forever among shadows and darkness.**

**\- Memoir of Witches -**

“Hello, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked up from the paper he was reading to find a tall, grey wizard standing in the pathway to his humble home.

“Gandalf”, Bilbo intoned wryly.

There was a slight pause, in which Bilbo sent a silent prayer up to Eru for the wizard to spontaneously combust. Gandalf simply looked amused, damn him.

“Well, I’ve had a long journey”, Gandalf said. “And I believe that any respectable hobbit would invite me inside for a nice, warm cup of tea.”

“Oh, very well.” Bilbo snapped. “If you must.”

He stood up from the worn out bench, folded up his paper, and gestured for Gandalf to follow him. Ignoring the chuckles that came from behind, Bilbo went on to prepare a tray of tea and biscuits, which he set on the table with a pointed glare and huff.

Gandalf was either oblivious or uncaring of Bilbo’s ire, because the wizard nibbled at the biscuits quite jovially. After a while Bilbo gave up trying to will the wizard away, and instead began to smoke his pipe, letting the Old Toby soothe his frayed nerves.

“Well, I don’t suppose you came all the way to Bag End just to drink some tea.” Bilbo remarked, as Gandalf, having finished the biscuits in a remarkably short period of time, pulled out his own pipe.

“No, I haven’t.” Gandalf replied, raising one bushy eyebrow.

Bilbo groaned. He knew that glint of mischief in the wizard’s eyes, and most of the time it resulted in horrible, uncomely things that would keep one late for supper.

Things like adventures, Bilbo thought with a shudder.

“Whatever you’re up to, the answer is no. I’ve settled quite comfortably here, and I loathe to be taken out of the Shire, thank you very much.” He huffed.

Gandalf tutted his disapproval at Bilbo’s shortness.

“You would not turn away the request ofan old friend, Bilbo.”

But Bilbo being the grumpy, stubborn soul that he was, proceeded to do exactly that.

Every time Gandalf tried to explain what exactly the ‘request’ was, Bilbo would bring up something else. Like his own aching joints, or the fact that little Frodo’s birthday was so soon and _oh Gandalf, he could not possibly miss it!_

Finally, Gandalf stood up with a very displeased expression, while Bilbo smiled sunnily at him.

“Don’t think this conversation is over.” Gandalf said with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, but it is!” Bilbo shouted, as Gandalf was striding out of Bag End. “And don’t forget to send my deepest regrets to whatever poor fellow you manage to rope into this mad adventure!”

-

A week after that horrid visit, Bilbo was readying himself for bed when someone knocked on his door, twice.

Frowning, he tried to recall if there were any previous arrangements that had cause for such a late night visit. True, he had promised Old Gaffer that he would see to his joint aches, but certainly not at such an ungodly hour.

So it was with no small amount of suspicion, that Bilbo opened the door with a tentative ‘who is it’. Only to find himself face to face with -

With a dwarf.

A real dwarf.

In the Shire. On his doorstep.

Bilbo gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a gutted fish, as the dwarf gave a stilted bow and growled;

“Dwalin, at yer service.”

And without another word the dwarf pushed past Bilbo into the house, tromping across Bilbo’s cherry wood flooring with mud caked feet. Bilbo, still drifting between shock and indignation, watched numbly as Dwalin headed towards the kitchen. 

“I heard there’d be a feast” muttered Dwalin, shooting a dark look at the quite obviously feast-less table.

“What?” Bilbo asked, a bit faintly. “What feast? Who said there’d be a - Who are you, anyway?”

Before Dwalin could answer, there came another knock. Bilbo simply stood there, rooted to the spot and wondering if somehow this was all some sort of hallucination induced by too much pipe weed.

The knocking persisted, and Dwalin looked at him, raising an eyebrow like Bilbo was the strange one.

“Ain’t gonna answer that?”

It was in a rather trance-like state that Bilbo opened the door, which revealed two other dwarves. Both were quite young, with eyes filled with mischief and heads held high with pride. They beamed and bowed exaggeratedly at Bilbo.

“Fili-”

“And Kili-”

“At your service.”

Then both of them promptly weaseled past Bilbo, throwing their cloaks and swords in every which direction. Feeling a bit faint, Bilbo closed his eyes, praying that if he opened them he would find Bag End as before; quiet, cozy, and free of dwarves.

Instead when he opened them he found that somehow the dwarves had multiplied to a whooping number of twelve, and that Gandalf stood amongst them, looking ever so slightly abashed. 

“Gandalf.” Bilbo grit out. “I should have known you were behind… whatever this is.”

He gestured to the kitchen, where the dwarves had begun to devour the food they’d raided from his pantry.

At that exact moment, the round one - Bombur, was it? - managed to let out the most obnoxious burp ever, after downing his pint in one go. A cheer went up in the crowd, followed by eleven burps, each one louder and more obnoxious than the next.

Bilbo suddenly had a strong urge to poke Gandalf’s eye with his own staff, set his beard on fire, and then have a very strong drink. Annoyingly, Gandalf simply raised his eyebrows and gave Bilbo a look.

“Well, if only you’d listened…”

“Oh, be silent.” Bilbo cried out. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but this has to end. NOW.”

And as if to make sure Bilbo be subject to as much annoyance as possible, another blasted knock came, this one heavy and demanding. He threw up his hands, shouted ‘Oh Eru save me from these confounding dwarves’, and flung open the door with a scowl.

Only to slam it shut.

“Gandalf”, Bilbo asked with a forced calmness. “What is Thorin Oakenshield doing at my front door?”

There was a slight pause, and then;

“Well.” Gandalf said, giving Bilbo a look of complete innocence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which first impressions are made, contracts are signed, and wills are set in order.

**There** **is** **not** **much** **known** **about** **Shadow** **-** **Walking** **,** **for** **it** **was** **a** **dark** **craft** **used** **by** **higher** **forms** **of** **evil** **such** **as** **the** **Fell** **Riders** **and** **Witches** **during** **the** **Second** **Age** **.** **It** **is** **said** **that** **wielder** **of** **the** **craft** **is** **able** **to** **linger** **unnoticed** **in** **the** **darkness** **where** **the** **light** **does** **not** **touch** **,** **allowing** **for** **near** **invisibilit** y **.** ****

**-** **Ormiar** **(** **Book** **of** **spells** **) -**

It was apparent that Thorin Oakenshield was not the sort that took kindly to having doors slammed in his face.

The look that the dwarven king sent his way was pure fury, and Bilbo suspected that any normal hobbit would have fainted or at least squeaked in fear. But in his long, long life he’d been glared at by beings much more terrifying than Thorin Oakenshield, so he simply shrugged and apologized.

“Oh dear, I am ever so sorry about that.” He said. “Please come in.”

Of course Thorin had completely ignored him and turned to Gandalf, mouth set in a grim line and eyes blazing with righteous anger befitting of a king.

“What is this, Gandalf?” Thorin grit out, and Bilbo noticed veins popping in and out of the dwarf’s forehead.

“You promised me a proper burglar, not some green grocer. This halfling looks like he’d faint at the mere mention of a dragon, let alone steal from it.”

Bilbo would have been greatly offended at that comment, had he not been too busy processing the word ‘DRAGON’.

“Let us not be quick to make presumptions.” Gandalf answered, giving Thorin a stern look.

“Although Bilbo may not look like it, he does have a few tricks up his sleeve. And I do believe that he shall be essential to the success of your quest.”

Thorin snorted, giving Bilbo one last look of contempt before he pushed past both of them, heading to the kitchen where the Company had gathered.

“A dragon, Gandalf?” Bilbo hissed as soon as Thorin was out of earshot. “So this is what you wanted me for?”

“Indeed, my friend.” Gandalf said with a grave nod.

Bilbo sighed and headed for the secret cabinet where he kept the ‘only-for-emergencies’ liquor. He’d sworn never to open it after that humiliating incident at the fall harvest a few years ago, but he felt that in face of dragons and dwarves one was allowed some leniency.

Only after he poured himself a very, very full glass did he motion for Gandalf to begin.

-

With each and every word Bilbo could feel his brows climbing up higher and higher, and by the time Gandalf finally got to the part about stealing the Arkenstone from right under the dragon’s nose, he couldn’t help but interject.

“I mean no slight but… but this is pure madness!” He spluttered. “They shall all perish within minutes if they try to steal even a single coin from that beast!”

“Ah, and that is where you come in.” Gandalf said. Bilbo noted with dread that the wizard’s eyes were twinkling again, and braced himself for the absurdity that was sure to follow.

“You are currently a hobbit, which means that the dragon will not know of your scent.”

Bilbo snorted.

“If that’s what you’re looking for you’d be better off taking one of the Stoor hobbits. I’m sure the dragon hasn’t smelled one of them as well, and they’re a much better fighter than I am.”

“You are also well versed in dark magic, so the dragon’s mind spells will have no effect on you.”

“Well…” Bilbo floundered as he racked his brains for an excuse.

“I wouldn’t exactly say well versed; that’s putting it a bit too far. I haven’t done anything remotely related to magic - light or dark - for the last two thousand years.”

After a slight pause Gandalf added with a keen look; “You also still pertain the ability of shadow-walking.”

Bilbo valiantly tried not to wince.

For reasons unknown that particular ability had stayed with him, even after all his magic had been stripped away and he’d been confined to a hobbit form.

At first he’d been nervous to use it, afraid of the possible repercussions. But for decades nothing had happened, and after a while he supposed it had simply been a fluke, something caused by the scrapes of magic that had managed to linger within him. Over the past few centuries he'd shadow-walked quite often, since it was handy when avoiding nosy neighbors and unwelcome visitors.

He hadn’t thought Gandalf would know about it, but apparently the wizard was more perceptive than Bilbo gave him credit for.

As he drained the last of Hamfast Gamgee’s home-brew, Bilbo reluctantly came to the conclusion that this whole quest did make some sense, in a maddening sort of way.

Seemingly sensing his change of heart, Gandalf beamed as he pulled out a contract from nowhere and handed it to Bilbo.

“Now if you just sign this, all will be fine and well.” He announced cheerfully.

“I.. well..”

Bilbo hesitated, biting his lip as he looked down at the piece of paper.

It was true that if anyone _could_ manage to steal from a dragon and live to tell the tale, it would probably be him. But it was also true that for nearly two thousand years he’d been a hobbit, living peacefully with tea parties and lace dollies and lemon cakes, and he’d quite forgotten how to be anything else.

“What about Thorin?” He asked in last desperate attempt. “He’s the leader of this Company and he certainly dislikes me. I don’t think he’ll be very pleased if I were to join the quest.”

“I hold the key and map, so he shall do as I say whether he likes it or not.” Gandalf huffed, then added as if it were an afterthought;

“And I don’t think he dislikes you. It’s simply that the weight of the crown lies heavy on his shoulders, and it has made him quick to anger and slow to trust.”

“Pity”, sighed Bilbo. “I remember him being rather adorable as a dwarfling.”

Gandalf chuckled as he shook his head gently. “I wouldn’t worry about Thorin, Bilbo. I’m sure he’ll come round in due time.”

Bilbo highly doubted that, but rolled his eyes and reached for a quill anyway.

“Oh, very well then. Hand me that damned contract before I change my mind.”

-

That night Bilbo couldn’t sleep. It was partially due to the thirteen dwarves in his house, whose combined snoring was loud enough to wake the entire Shire, but mostly because he was deathly nervous about what was to come.

During his years as a hobbit, his ventures out of the Shire had been far and few between. Most of them had been pleasant affairs; visits to Rivendell mostly, with a few trips to far away kingdoms where his extensive knowledge of dark magic was needed. And certainly none of those little outings had required him to steal treasure from a dragon.

At least if he died it would be quick, Bilbo mused to himself. And there were certainly worse ways to go.

Sighing, Bilbo tossed and turned in the dark for a few more minutes, until finally conceding to the fact that he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He stood up and lit a candle, sat himself on his desk, and pulled out his quill and two sheets of fine paper.

‘Will of Bilbo’, He began to write. ‘To be executed by Gandalf the Grey.’

He then proceeded to write down who would own what after his passing, careful to perfect each and every letter.

Most of his things would go to the Baggins family of course, for they’d held a dear place in his heart ever since his brief but beautiful friendship with Dungo and Belladonna. He specified that Frodo Baggins - a rather lovely child that he’d grown fond of - was to receive Bag End at the date of his coming of age, and that the contents of Bag End be distributed fairly among rest of the Baggins clan.

Aside from Bag End Bilbo didn’t really have much, so the rest of the will was easy enough to sort out. His money would be given to the Gamgees, who had been a loyal gardener. His collection of fine wine would go to Gerilda Proudfoot, a now elderly hobbit who had been his drinking friend in her youth. And his secret recipe for custard cake, which had earned him the proud title ‘ten-time winner of Shire’s Bake Festival’, would be fully disclosed to everyone.

After emphasizing thrice that Lobellia Baggins was not to be allowed to take a single spoon from his home, Bilbo looked down at his finished will with satisfaction.

“Well. This settles everything.” Bilbo muttered to himself.

Then he proceeded to pull out the other piece of paper. He looked down at it for quite a long time, blinked, sighed rather heavily, and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been cackling like a madwoman every time I see comments, because they make me so happy. I can't believe there are people actually reading this mess and liking it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which goodbyes are exchanged, Bilbo is plagued with melancholy, and hobbit children are simply adorable creatures.

**The** **world** **is** **changing** **.**

 **Darkness** **creeps** **ever** **further** **west** **,** **while** **evil** **spreads** **its** **roots** **amongst** **the** **land** **.**

 **The** **tides** **of** **Fate** **are** **brewing** **once** **again** **,** **and** **even** **you** **cannot** **avoid** **her** **call** **,** **my** **friend** **.**

_Every member of the Shire, even the most simple and unassuming ones, knew that Mister Bilbo of Bag End was no ordinary hobbit._

_At first glance it seemed as though nothing was out of place, for Bilbo lived a peaceful and quiet, if not a bit secluded, life in the edges of the Shire. He rarely did anything that was odd or peculiar, instead choosing to do what every other hobbit did with his time; which were gardening, cooking, cleaning, smoking, and the occasional drinking._

_He even looked like a normal hobbit, though an admittedly well-bred one. He was of modest height, with a round face and small nose, curly brown hair atop both his head and feet, and had a good natured smile that spoke of full bellies and leisurely days._

_Everything about him was so distinctly hobbit-like, that it was hard to imagine that he was anything but ordinary. Yet there was one thing that set him firmly apart from every other hobbit in the Shire;_

_Nobody knew exactly how old he was._

_And while hobbits usually enjoyed a rather modest lifespan of a hundred years give or take, Bilbo had occupied Bag End for years far beyond that._

_‘He’s been here for ages, even when I myself was little. And he was here when my grandma was only a babe, and her own grandma before that.’ Gertrude Hornblower, an elderly hobbit with more wrinkles on her face than a river had water, would reply whenever a bold fauntling had enough courage to ask._

_There were even rumors that Bilbo had been with the hobbits ever since the Wandering Days, which was a time so far back that it had become nothing more than a half forgotten bedtime story among the Shire._

_None of it made any sense in the slightest. Because how could someone walk and talk and dress like a hobbit, without actually aging like one? It was all rather confusing, really._

_So the hobbits chose to do what they usually did, whenever they faced problems that couldn’t be answered with a healthy dose of sensibility;_

_They simply ignored it altogether, and went on with their lives._

_For hobbits were not folk to linger uselessly upon questions that could not be answered, or puzzle themselves over mysteries that could not be solved._

_Instead they decided to view it as an unfortunate family trait of sorts, which was something they understood. Just as Tooks tended to run off on wild adventures and Chubbs tended to hoard all the food during parties, Bilbo just tended to… not age._

_And the fact that Bilbo was the epitome of respectability and propriety in all other regards, helped with their easy acceptance of him. He ate six full meals a day, fretted about his tomato plants, and threw the most excellent tea parties._

_Not to mention how he was never caught outside without a proper waistcoat on, bless him._

_“He’s a hobbit in all the ways that matter.” The hobbits would say with a shrug. “And that’s all there is to know.”_

_And so that was that._

-

As soon as he opened the front door of the Bag End, Bilbo discovered four children blocking the way with crossed arms and identically determined expressions on their faces.

“You were trying to leave without even saying goodbye!” Accused Frodo Baggins, hands on his hips. It was quite impressive how someone so little could look so indignant, thought Bilbo.

He sighed as the four children swarmed up to him, jumping and whining and asking if he was truly going away.

Earlier this morning he had told Hamfast that he’d be going on a long trip, and would he be so kind as to make sure the garden didn’t get too horrendous while he was away. It was only half past noon and it seemed like the news that he was leaving had spread around half the Shire.

Sometimes, Bilbo mused, he forgot that hobbits could not keep a secret even if their lives depended on it.

The Company had gathered behind Bilbo, packs all ready to go, and they were peering out at the scene with no little curiosity. Bilbo turned to them with a look pleading assistance - perhaps a kingly speech from Thorin would convince the little ones to move away?

But apparently the dwarves also had no idea what to do when it came to dealing with a hoard of pouty fauntlings.

Dwalin muttered awkwardly about having to sharpen his axe while he shuffled backwards. Bombur suddenly became very busy inspecting his cooking supplies. Thorin just grimaced like someone had stuck a knife between his ribcage.

Ah, so he’d have to do this alone then. Bilbo clucked his tongue nervously - he had never been good with farewells, and especially not ones where little ones were involved.

He turned back to the four hobbits, planning to tell them that, yes he was going away and no they did not have to fuss over it, only to be tackled by a mass of curly hair and wee limbs before he could even open his mouth.

“Oomph.”

“You cannot leave now! Frodo’s birthday is only in a few weeks!” Cried Pippin as he threw himself at Bilbo.

“Birthdays come and go, dear boy. And I’m sure I’ll be around to attend the next one, so there truly is no need for all this fuss.”

Pippin nodded and hugged Bilbo even tighter, smearing what looked suspiciously like snot all over his traveling coat.

Bilbo tried not to wince as he patted Pippin’s curly little head, then proceeded to disentangle himself from rest of the fauntlings one and a time. It wasn’t easy, considering how they wouldn’t stop babbling and trying to hug every inch of him at the same time.

“Why are you leaving? You’ve never left us, Bilbo. Not once!”

“But you’ll be back in time for the Bake Fest, yes? Ma said you’re supposed to be the presenter of the winner this year!”

“Are those people behind you dwarves, Mister Bilbo? Are you going on an adventure with a dwarf?”

Bilbo just shook his head, equal amounts of fondness and exasperation welling up inside of him.

“I have left the Shire before, Frodo. It was simply before you rascals were born, so none of that you’ve-never-left nonsense. And no Sam, I’m sorry but I won’t be attending the Bake Festival this year. Tell your mother to find another hobbit who’s up for the job. As for you Merry, yes those people behind me are dwarves. It’s quite obvious really from those beards.”

Having succeeded in peeling the little ones off, Bilbo straightened up and waggled his fingers at them, rearranging his features into an expression of utmost seriousness.

“I shall tell you the whole grand tale when I get back, so you lot - especially you Pippin - listen to your parents and stay out of trouble while I’m gone. Understood?”

The four hobbits nodded, looking up at Bilbo with earnest looks and chubby cheeks. Bilbo tried to keep up his stern facade for a bit longer, but really he didn’t have a chance against them.

“Oh, come and give this old hobbit a hug.” He relented, pulling the four into his arms.

Pippin and Mary shrieked in delight as they lunged at him, while Sam promptly burst into tears. Frodo hugged him shyly, whispering that Bilbo should be back quick or else they’d miss him terribly.

Bilbo just smiled at them and mussed up their hair fondly.

-

Only after some time had passed were the Company finally able to begin their journey.

It had taken longer than expected because at one point Pippin took hold of Bilbo’s left leg and refused to let go. If it weren’t for Gandalf and his ‘scary voice’ as Pippin had called it, they would still be stuck in Bag End.

So when the wizard, the hobbit, and the dwarves left the borders of the Shire it was well past dusk.

The wind blew crisp and cool as the beginnings of darkness crept across the sky, and a light spattering of stars peaked out from the clouds, shining upon a road that was clear of any danger.

It was a rather pleasant way to begin a quest, and naturally the spirits of the Company were high.

The dwarves were unable to reign in their boisterous moods, and started to sing old dwarven tunes that spoke of good fortune and fair roads. Their merriment was an infectious thing, and even Gandalf who normally shied away from such affairs joined in, humming off-key as he puffed out tiny smoke rings.

The only exception to the cheer was Bilbo, who had been silent ever since they’d left Hobbiton.

His eyes were far away and lost in thought, and he didn’t even notice when Gloin sidled up next to him, head still bent to the ground and brows furrowed.

“Can’t help but notice yer bein’ real quiet.” Gloin remarked with a cough. “Anythin’ on yer mind?”

“Gah!”

Bilbo started at the sudden interruption, causing his pony (which he’d named Myrtle, to the Company’s great amusement) to whine in protest. He flailed a bit in an attempt to regain his balance and Gloin chortled at the sight, though his laughter not unkind.

“No, no. Nothing’s on my mind.” Bilbo replied grumpily, after finally managing to settle into a position that wouldn’t cause Myrtle to throw him off and break his neck. “Why on Middle Earth would you think that?”

“Well, for starters ye haven’t joined in on the singing!” Gloin exclaimed with a heartening smile. And after a slight pause he added in a more serious undertone;

“And ye’ve got that… ya know, far-away look in your eyes.”

“What look? I don’t have a look.” Bilbo spluttered, trying to beat back the flush that was surly creeping up his neck.

It was true that he had been thinking rather morosely about the Shire and all the people he’d left behind, but it was humiliating to have it pointed out by a dwarf he’d only met yesterday.

He wondered if Gloin was going to tease him mercilessly for moping, or perhaps go on again with that whole ‘hobbits-are-too-weak-hearted-for-adventures’ nonsense, which Thorin had proclaimed loudly after hearing that Bilbo would be joining the quest last night.

To his great surprise Gloin simply shrugged and scratched his beard.

“I’m not that good with words and such, but… well. I’ve got a wee lad myself - my little Gimli, he is. And I know how hard it can be to say goodbye to the people ya care about.”

Bilbo opened his mouth in a silent ‘oh’ of surprise.

“Sometimes the hardest part of a quest can be, ya know, the beginnin’ part. Where you’ve gotta leave ya family and friends behind.” Gloin continued.

“And seein’ ya back there with the little ones… well, just sayin’ that I get what you’re feeling right now.”

Gloin reached out and patted Bilbo’s back, and for a moment Bilbo was at a loss for words.

He truly had not expected that Gloin would offer words of comfort, and felt great shame at having been so quick as to presume otherwise. He of all people should know better than to judge a book by its cover, Bilbo thought with a grimace.

But before he could stammer out what would surely have been a very poor thank you, Gloin sidled ahead to join the rest of the Company once more, leaving Bilbo alone to his thoughts.

He sighed heavily as he looked up at the sky, which had gone completely dark by now. The stars had hidden behind the clouds, and was a thin sliver of moonlight shining down upon them, bathing the road in an eery light and adding an unreal quality to everything.

It was almost as though all that happened since last night was but a dream. If he woke up now, he would still be in Bag End, with a book in one hand and a pipe in another. The fire would be roaring, and the armchair would be warm and comfortable, and…

Stop it, Bilbo told himself firmly. It was illogical to wallow as such.

For if all went according to plan, the dwarves would reclaim Erebor in no time, and he would be allowed to return to the Shire in a year or two. For him two years were nothing more than a blink of an eye, so what use was all this melancholy?

And yet, he could not help but feel a sense of foreboding.

It felt as though a chapter of his life; a lovely and quiet chapter that he had not deserved in the slightest, was coming to an end, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The words Gandalf had spoken the day before; words of darkness and change, and of how Bilbo would not be able to avoid it - came back to him.

Was it true, what Gandalf said? He wondered. Would his peaceful days in the Shires be no more? Even if this quest succeeded, would he no longer be able to return to his life as before?

It was a chilling thought, and Bilbo fought hard to clamp down on the panic that welled within him. 

And so Bilbo remained silent as he plodded along the road, all the while painfully aware that each step was leading him further and further away from the Shire.

From the place he’d come to call home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are new friendships, untold secrets, and one very angry Dwarven king.

**One must never trust a wizard.** **For they are a scheming folk, always trying to rewrite the ways of the world to their own whims.**

 **Oh they may tempt you with promises of treasure and adventures, of greatness and glory.** **But in truth you are nothing but a pawn, a lesser piece in their greater games.**

**So I warn you, my friend. If you are to ever cross paths with a wizard (though I hope you do not), put no faith in his words.**

**Instead you should run. Run far far away, to a place where his riddles and tricks cannot reach you.**

**\- A letter, from a writer unknown -**

The days that followed were quite enjoyable, and it was easier for Bilbo to keep his more darker thoughts of the Shire at bay.

The road was peaceful, and small animals such as rabbits or squirrels were aplenty, which meant that the Company could sleep with full stomaches every night. The weather was nice; not too warm or not too cold, and miraculously not even a single raindrop had found them yet.

Even hours and hours of pony riding were not so bad, Bilbo conceded reluctantly, once muscle memory kicked in.

And despite the rather memorable first meeting, the company of dwarves were not as unpleasant as he’d feared.

The first member he’d started true conversation with was Bofur.

Apparently Bofur and his brother Bifur were toymakers, and they had traveled across many lands in attempts to sell their craft. The two would tell Bilbo simple and cheerful stories of that time; Bofur boasting about the people he’d met and things he’d seen while Bifur made excited gestures at the side, and Bilbo found himself laughing in delight at each and every one of them.

Fili and Kili on the other hand, had not so much as ‘held conversation’ with him, rather than decide one day that they would put a toad in his bedroll, for reasons Bilbo had yet to understand.

When Bilbo found the ugly, wet creature blinking in his bed he’d shrieked, and then promptly whipped the two younglings quite thoroughly with his tongue (he had enough experience with Pippin and Merry, thank you very much). After that they’d proclaimed that they liked him and then proceeded to pester him with questions every waking second ever since.

Next was Gloin. All it had taken was ‘so you said you had a son…’, and off he was. Approximately three hours later, Bilbo now knew everything from little Gimli’s first potty training to his excellent axe-wielding skills.

Then came Oin, with whom Bilbo had very deep (and surprisingly insightful) debates about the uses of various ointments and salves, though most of it had to be shouted due to Oin’s terrible hearing.

Ori turned out to be the Company’s official scribe, and held a thirst for knowledge that Bilbo found both very respectable and very endearing. Once Ori managed to overcome his shy nature, the two soon spent long hours talking about various hobbit cultures and customs, with Dori hovering close by and fretting while Nori rolled his eyes at all three of them.

Bombur and Bilbo bonded quickly enough over their love of good meals, hatred for hard-boiled eggs, and a firm belief that there was no such thing as an overly cooked bread pudding.

And Balin was by far the most knowledgable and well-spoken dwarf that Bilbo had ever met (though to be fair he’d encountered about twenty so far) so it was hard to dislike him. Even Dwalin, who had first struck Bilbo as unfriendly and ill-tempered, gave Bilbo a few grunts of approval when he’d managed to skin a rabbit neatly without much fuss.

The only exception was Thorin, really.

For the most part Thorin chose to ignore Bilbo, treating him as though he were invisible. But sometimes he would notice the dwarven king glaring at him; shooting him with dark looks so obviously filled with dislike, that Bilbo truly did not know what to think.

What could he have possibly done, he would wonder to himself, to aggravate Thorin as such?

“I have no inkling as to what his problem could be.” Bilbo complained, puffing out a smoke ring with a bit more force than necessary. “I mean, honestly. One would think I murdered his firstborn, for all those looks he’s giving me.”

Gandalf just chuckled and blew out a smoke butterfly, which danced consolingly through Bilbo’s hair before dissipating.

The two were currently enjoying their pipeweed a safe distance away from the Company and the racket they were making.

For while Bilbo found that he truly liked the dwarves, their humor and hardiness being hard to dislike, he had also discovered that they turned out to be a tad loud and overwhelming for him at times.

And so from time to time he would slip away, to bask in a few minutes of much needed peace and quiet.

At times Gandalf would join him, and the two would exchange quips and old stories, or sometimes they would speak of nothing at all, instead letting silence fill the space between them.

Bilbo smiled happily to himself. He reveled in these stolen moments; Old toby in his pipe and a good friend by his side, with nothing louder than an occasional cricket chirping to disturb his thoughts.

Ah, the bliss.

-

“Where is the halfling?”

Balin glanced up from the maps he were deciphering to see Thorin, glaring moodily at the empty space where their resident hobbit should have been.

“Off for a quick smoke with the wizard, I suppose.” Balin answered with a shrug. “I’ve noticed that they’ve taken to slipping away now and again. Not that I can blame them.”

In that exact moment one of the princes let out a loud shout, which were followed by hoots and cheers from the other dwarves. Balin shook his head, giving Thorin a look of ‘see what I mean?’

Thorin’s brows furrowed even more.

“It isn’t safe. He shouldn’t wander so far from the company.”

Balin personally thought that their burglar would be much safer in the presence of a wizard than that of thirteen dwarves (half of them weren’t even proper warriors, for Mahal’s sake) but he had the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. He had come to notice that Thorin tended to be a bit short-tempered when it came to matters concerning their burglar.

Instead he made a noncommittal sound, hoping that Thorin would move on. After all, there were more important matters at hand than the whereabouts of a single hobbit. Like that dragon in Erebor, for example.

But it seemed as though Thorin had other plans in mind.

“He is a ridiculous, fussy creature that has no place amongst us.” Thorin continued darkly. “I have no idea why the wizard insisted on bringing him along. No doubt he shall perish, due to his own foolishness.”

“Give him time, Thorin. I’m sure Bilbo is more than meets the eye, or else Gandalf wouldn’t have recommended him at all.” Balin replied half-heartedly, skimming through the maps with a frown on his face.

It was odd, he thought. For it seemed as though Gandalf was leading them in the wrong direction, forgoing the path that crossed the plains of Arnor, and choosing one that was more perilous and roundabout.

If his estimations were correct, and if they were to continue in the direction they’d been headed for the past days, in the next week or so they would arrive at none other than…

Ah.

Balin’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat.

“Thorin, you might want to see this.”

-

Bilbo watched, half amused and half alarmed as Gandalf stormed away, his back a rigid line of anger.

One minute he had been enjoying a peaceful smoke with Gandalf, the next Thorin had stormed towards them, looking so furious Bilbo suspected the dwarf would spit fire at any moment.

What had followed was a row; a rather vocal one at that, between the wizard and Thorin.

Apparently Gandalf had been purposefully leading the Company towards Rivendell (and yes, Bilbo had not noticed up till this point, he was simply horrible at directions) and naturally Thorin was furious when the wizard admitted to doing so.

It seemed as though the dwarven king’s ill feelings for elves ran deeper than the valleys of Helm’s Deep, and he had accused Gandalf of being a spy for the elves, intent on sabotaging their quest. Even Gandalf’s explanation that Lord Elrond’s aid was essential in reading the map couldn’t seem to dissuade his anger.

After a while Gandalf had left in a huff, cursing the stubbornness of dwarves and calling Thorin many unflattering names in elvish, for which Bilbo was glad that only he could understand.

“You. Hobbit.”

Bilbo started, turning around to face Thorin who was glowering at him.

“Were you also aware of Gandalf’s plans? Did you realize that we were heading to Rivendell?”

“No, I did not. I am just as surprised as you are.” He said truthfully.

“You don’t look very surprised.” Thorin said, and there was heavy suspicion in the dwarf’s tone. “Nor do you look upset.”

Bilbo blinked. “Well.” He replied slowly, careful to make sure none of his words showed the annoyance he was feeling.

“I am sorry that I don’t tend to be as vocal with my feelings as you’d like. But I can assure you; I did not have any knowledge of Gandalf’s plans. After all, wizards tend to keep their secrets to themselves, and it is quite unheard of for a wizard to confide his schemes to a mere hobbit, friends though we may be.”

There was a slight pause, but Thorin seemed to have accepted Bilbo’s answer. After giving Bilbo one last dark look, he turned to storm off to where the Company was gathered, and Bilbo had to fight the very childish urge to make a rude gesture at his retreating figure.

“The audacity!” Bilbo huffed to himself, but there was no real bite in his words.

For in truth, he had his own doubts about Gandalf's motives for leading them to Rivendell. 

He had seen Thror’s map that very first day in Bag End, and had taken note of the traces of Moon Runes in the corners. It had been subtle yes, but not impossible to make out. And if he had noticed it, so would have Gandalf, for the wizard had much keener eyes than him and was much more knowledgable in hidden writings.

There was no need for Elrond’s help in deciphering the map. None at all.

But then why did Gandalf direct the Company to Rivendell, risking both Thorin’s anger and a much more dangerous road?

It would seem, Bilbo concluded, that Gandalf most certainly had other motives. Though he may not be consorting with the elves as Thorin had accused, he was certainly hiding something. Hatching some other plan of his own.

Bilbo shook his head with a sigh.

Wizards and their blasted secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shoddy, but I really just wanted to get it out of the way.  
> So, hope you enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are mountain trolls, mistaken uses of Black Speech, and wizards with a lot of secrets.

**Trolls** **were** **violent** **creatures** **born** **of** **stone** **,** **twisted** **into** **darkness** **by** **none** **other** **than** **the** **first** **Dark** **Lord** **,** **Melkor** **.**

 **They** **possessed** **a** **thick** **hide** **impenetrable** **by** **most** **weapons** **and** **held** **a** **vicious** **hunger** **for** **flesh** , **along** **with** **an** **acute** **sense** **of** **smell** **.** **Though** **admittedly** **dim** **-** **witted** **,** **trolls** **were** **greatly** **feared** **for** **their** **strength** **and** **brutality** **,** **in** **which** **they** **were** **unmatched** **by** **any** **other** **race** **in** **Middle** **Earth** **.**

 **During** **the** **Second** **Age** **they** **acted** **as** **Sauron** **’** **s** **leading** **soldiers** **in** **battle** **,** **and** **answered** **only** **to** **the** **Black** **Speech** **of** **Mordor** **.**

 **-** **Abus** **:** **A** **Collective** **of** **Dark** **Creatures** **-**

“You is smelling funny.” Grunted the mountain troll.

Bilbo would have liked to say something witty to that. Or something scathing.

Instead he just let out a sort of choking gasp, which sounded pathetic even his own ears. But to be fair he was currently being dangled upside down from his left leg, so it was impressive that he managed to say anything at all.

“Oi! Put him down!” Shouted Fili.

The troll didn’t even seem to notice. It’s small, stupid eyes were trained only on Bilbo, blinking slowly as it cocked its giant head in confusion.

“You is smelling real familiar.” It said hesitantly. “I know that smell. I remember from before.”

Bilbo gulped, deathly afraid that the troll’s eyes would widen in recognition, and that it would suddenly cry out; ‘Witch! You is that Witch from Minas-Morgul!’ Because somehow that was an even more terrifying prospect than that of being eaten alive.

But before the troll could utter anything else, Fili charged forward with a battle cry.

He plunged his sword into the troll’s calf, causing it to howl in fury, then promptly drop Bilbo headfirst to the ground.

Bilbo groaned as a shock of pain blossomed along his entire left side, which had taken the brunt of the fall. He blinked, trying to will away the blackness that was slowly creeping into the edges of his vision.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the two other trolls lunging for Fili, their teeth bared and arms outstretched, and felt his stomach lurch in horror. Partly from the nausea yes, but mostly from horror.

“No!” He wheezed. “Stop!”

But of course the trolls didn’t listen.

Fili had lost his sword by now, and was attacking the trolls with a hunting knife, jabbing and hacking as best he could, but to no avail. He might has well been jabbing the trolls with a toothpick, for all the good it did.

At any moment now they would reach out, bat away the knife, grab Fili, and that would be end of the blonde haired prince.

Images of Fili, cold and lifeless as he bled on the ground came to his mind, and Bilbo clenched his teeth. No, he could not let that happen.

He would not let that happen.

Fueled by a mad desperation and a recklessness that he not known he’d possessed, Bilbo cried out;

“ **Nadal** **!** ”

His voice was a pitifully small and cracked thing, barely distinguishable over the shouts and roars. But miraculously, remarkably - the trolls stopped. They blinked at each other, obviously confused, and turned to Bilbo.

“You is… from home?” One of them grunted at him, scratching its giant head.

But before Bilbo could even hope to say anything other than a stuttered ‘erm’, there came a roaring shout from behind. He turned around to see twelve dwarves rushing from the trees, their weapons swinging in full glory as they charged at the trolls.

“Thank Eru.” Bilbo breathed out.

And for a moment it seemed as though they would win; for the dwarves were clearly skilled fighters, their swords and axes and hammers finding their mark with deadly accuracy.

Dwalin and Thorin were wrecking havoc, weaving through the trolls’ legs with practiced ease and slicing at anything within their reach. Gloin, Bombur, and Bifur pounded upon the trolls’ feet with their heavy hammers, flanked by Nori and Dori, who jammed their axes into any fleshy bit they could get their hands on, while Kili peppered them with his arrows from atop a nearby tree. Fili, Bofur, and Oin started to throw spears at the giant creatures’ heads (though Bilbo had no inkling as to where they might have procured spears), and even Ori jabbed at them with a machete, occasionally managing to cause one to yowl in pain.

After a while Bilbo joined in as best he could, throwing stones at the trolls and trying to hit them in the eye with the particularly pointy ones.

But then one of the trolls managed to take hold of Ori, and with an ugly leer on its face, threatened to ‘rip the little one’s limbs off and swallow it whole’ if the dwarves did not put their weapons down. Nori and Dori threw their axes down like they had been burned, and soon the others followed as suit, though with no little reluctance.

And so the Company found themselves tied up and stuffed into burlap sacks, while the trolls sat around the fire, arguing over how they should be cooked.

Bilbo too was no exception.

If the trolls had held any trepidation about him earlier due to his strange smell and Dark Tongue, it had vanished entirely in the midst of battle and all his rock throwing. They certainly had not hesitated to shove him into a sack, and throw him alongside the heap of tied-up dwarves.

“You should do that thing again, Bilbo.” Hissed Fili from beside him. “You know, that thing you did earlier.”

“What thing?” Asked Thorin, instantly suspicious. “What thing did the halfling do?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Bilbo snapped at Thorin. “And no Fili, I did not do a thing. What happened earlier was nothing but a… coincidence. I just shouted out whatever came to mind and managed to catch them by surprise. Truly, I have no memory of what I said back there.”

“Well, whatever our Master Burglar has or has not done won’t matter much.” Balin wheezed. “The trolls have nearly made up their mind.”

True to Balin’s word, the trolls had stopped fighting amongst themselves, and were readying what seemed like a huge knife and a roasting pit. The horrified Company started to squirm and strain against the binds, shouting out insults in Khuzdul at the trolls.

“But can’t you just… I don’t know, try shouting random words at them?” Fili asked, more desperately this time. “Maybe a coincidence will happen again.”

Bilbo just shook his head silently. 

Oh yes, he was tempted dearly. It would be laughably easy, to open his mouth and utter a few simple words of Black Speech.

Though it might not be enough to convince the trolls to release them (that ship had sailed long ago, along with the first rock he’d lobbed), it could be enough to confuse the trolls and to buy them some time.

But alas, he would not.

Bilbo was no fool, and knew that the moment he uttered so much as a single word of that foul language, the dwarves would become instantly suspicious.

The only reason he had gotten away the first time was because Fili was young and inexperienced, not yet having faced the dark creatures bred from Mordor. He could not say the same thing for the older dwarves like Thorin or Balin, and there was every possibility that they would recognize the Black Speech for what it was, and what it meant to use such a dark tongue with ease.

No, he thought firmly. He would not take such a risk. And there were always other ways to stall for time.

Having made up his mind Bilbo cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and shouted out;

“Oi, you lot!”

The trolls all turned to him questioningly.

The dwarves also whipped their heads around at his sudden outburst, staring at him as though they couldn’t decide whether he was very brave, very stupid, or both. Gloin looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, while Oin muttered something about the stress addling his brains.

Bilbo ignored them all, and shouted with even more gusto;

“Just thought you should know - we’ve all got parasites in us. Huge ones!”

-

“Ow!”

“Don’t fret, master burglar.” Said Oin, as he peered at Bilbo’s left arm with an unimpressed look. “Tis just a simple bruise. It’ll heal with time, not much I can do about that.”

“It hurts terribly.” Bilbo replied with a grumpy sniff. “The pain is killing me. Leading me to a slow, inevitable death, no doubt.”

Oin either didn’t hear (one of the trolls had stepped on his horn and it had come out a bit dented) or simply chose to ignore him, for he hobbled off without another word, leaving Bilbo to complain about his arm in solitude.

Bilbo started to button up his shirt, which he had reluctantly taken off for the sake of Oin’s examination. He was muttering under his breath about _dwarves and their ridiculous threshold for pain, his arm was no doubt going to fall off dammit_ , when he stopped, feeling a heavy gaze upon him.

It was Thorin, who was staring at him with an intensity that belonged to no place but a battlefield. And when he noticed Bilbo staring back, he whipped his head around so quickly Bilbo feared that the dwarven king would snap his neck.

He can’t possibly be blaming me for this mess, he thought sourly. After all it was Kili and Fili who had lost those ponies in the first place.

Though to be fair, added a small voice inside his head that sounded suspiciously like Belladonna, he had been the one to slip during Shadow-walking, alerting the trolls of their presence.

His inner monologue was interrupted by Gandalf’s sudden appearance. The wizard seated himself next to Bilbo, shooting a look of pity at Bilbo’s now purpling arm.

“Ah, that looks rather painful.”

“Yes, it is.” Bilbo replied tersely, buttoning up the rest of his shirt. “And I blame it entirely on you, Gandalf.”

“How so?” The wizard asked, raising one bushy eyebrow. “As I remember, I was one who returned those wretched creatures to stone.”

“Well, it was also you who stormed off after that ridiculous argument with Thorin, leaving us to fend for ourselves! If you’d stuck with the Company in the first place…”

“Had Oakenshield not been so stubborn about his animosity for the elves, I would have never left!“ Gandalf exclaimed with an indignant huff.

Gandalf’s eyes flickered to the dwarves, clearly making sure that there was no danger of being overheard.

There was nothing to fear however, for it seemed as though the dwarves had discovered the caves where the trolls had stashed their stolen treasures. They were currently too busy oohing and awing over whatever those disgusting creatures had managed to get their fingers on to pay much attention to their conversation.

Nonetheless, Gandalf lowered his voice as he continued;

“My decision to lead the Company to Rivendell was a necessary one. There are matters of great importance that needs to be addressed - ones that require that we go to the Last Homely House.”

Bilbo waited, silently and expectantly, for Gandalf to give a better explanation. Gandalf just looked away with a pointed cough, and that was an answer in itself.

“Fine. Keep your secrets to yourself.” Bilbo replied, throwing up his hands in annoyance.

“I am sorry, Bilbo. I wish I could tell you - I truly do. But I cannot.” Gandalf said, and he sounded sincere. “When the time comes, you will understand my reasons for keeping you in the dark.”

There was a brief silence, and then Bilbo let out a defeated sigh.

He could never stay mad at Gandalf. No matter how annoying and secretive he may be at times.

“Well, at least you didn’t try to feed me that ridiculous trope about needing Elrond’s help with the map.” Bilbo muttered. “I would have been very cross had you even tried.”

Gandalf chuckled. “I see you as many things, my friend. But a fool is not one of them.”

Ah. Now that brought something back to memory.

“Speaking of fools… well. I may have done something foolish back there.” Bilbo confessed, rubbing his ears awkwardly.

He then went on to explain what happened; how the trolls had recognized his scent, and how he’d panicked when Fili was in danger of being squashed like a bug. How he’d used the Tongue of Mordor to save Fili from the trolls, and how thankfully FIli hadn’t realized what it was.

“It was a close call, Gandalf.” He muttered. “Too close, for my liking. And it has made me realize… my secret will not be as easy to keep as I’d anticipated. I am not sure that I can make it all the way to Erebor without the dwarves finding out of my true form.”

Gandalf gave him a thoughtful look - the sort of look he usually gave Bilbo before he was about to say something utterly amazing or utterly horrid.

“But would it be such a terrible thing, Bilbo? For the dwarves to know who you truly are?”

Bilbo blinked. Twice.

Well, that had certainly fallen into the ‘utterly horrid’ category.

“Would it be -I’m sorry, but have I missed the joke?”

“It is no joke.” Gandalf gave him a look of utmost seriousness. “I truly think that it would not be such a terrible idea, for the Company to know your origin.”

“You and I both know that the dwarves will chop off my head and stick it on a pike, the moment they find out I’m a Witch.” He spluttered. “And I rather like having my head attached to my body, thank you very much.”

There were many more things that Bilbo would have liked to say in that moment - like how Gandalf should stop smoking pipeweed, because it was clearly addling his brains for him to even consider such madness.

But then Bilbo heard Thorin - that commanding voice could belong to no other - calling for him from the troll caves, and he jumped up from his seat, having no urge to continue this nonsensical conversation with Gandalf.

After shooting Gandalf one last look of disbelief, Bilbo shook his head, and headed to the caves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nadal : Stop


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo worries about wargs, wizards, his dark past that seems to be catching up with him, and Thorin is just stubborn as hell.

**In** **the** **dawn** **of** **the** **Third** **Age** **,** **shortly** **after** **the** **defeat** **of** **Sauron** **,** **the** **Lady** **of** **Lorien** **made** **a** **very** **peculiar** **request** **to** **the** **dwarves** **of** **Erebor** **.**

 **“** **A** **chain** **.”** **She** **said. “** **Fashion** **me** **a** **chain** **,** **oh** **great** **smiths** **of** **Mahal** **.** **One** **that** **binds** **not** **the** **body** **,** **but** **the** **magic** **that** **lies** **within** **.** **One** **that** **is** **lighter** **than** **air** **and** **invisible** **to** **the** **eye** **,** **but** **stronger** **than** **metal** **and** **mithril** **.”**

 **The** **dwarves** **were** **perplexed** **,** **but** **agreed** **to** **do** **so** **,** **for** **the** **Lady** **had** **promised** **them** **White** **Gems** **in** **repayment** **,** **ones** **that** **held** **starlight** **and** **shone** **like** **the** **moon** **,** **and** **they** **could** **not** **resist** **.**

 **And** **so** **the** **dwarves** **of** **Erebor** **fashioned** **a** **binding** **out** **of** **six** **impossible** **things** **;** **the** **beard** **of** **a** **woman** **,** **the** **footfalls** **of** **an** **elf** **,** **the** **roots** **of** **a** **mountain** **,** **the** **sinews** **of** **a** **bear** **-** **man** **,** **the** **breath** **of** **a** **fish** **,** **and** **the** **spittle** **of** **a** **bird** **.** **The** **binding** **was** **as** **thin** **as** **gossamer** **and** **soft** **to** **the** **touch** **like** **a** **silken** **ribbon** **,** **but** **was** **indestructible** **by** **even** **the** **greatest** **hammers** **or** **strongest** **fires** **.**

 **The** **dwarves** **handed** **over** **the** **binding** **,** **and** **the** **Lady** **,** **true** **to** **her** **word** **,** **gifted** **the** **White** **Gems** **to** **the** **dwarves** **.**

 **“** **But** **fair** **Lady** **,”** **asked** **one** **of** **the** **dwarves** **as** **they** **departed** **. “** **What** **purpose** **does** **the** **binding** **serve** **?** **What** **evil** **creature** **will** **it** **hold** **?”**

 **The** **Lady** **smiled as she bid them farewell** **,** **but** **did** **not** **answer** **.** ****

**-** **Gleipnir** **: Tales o** **f** **Erebor** **’** **s** **Greatest** **Works** **-**

Bilbo looked down grimly at the sword in his hands.

Thorin had basically shoved it at him the moment he’d entered the caves, claiming that _his pathetic rock throwing would do no good against the dangers that lay ahead of them_. Of course Bilbo had refused to take it, claiming that respectable hobbits did not carry weapons of any sort, and that he had no wish to break that tradition. But then Thorin had glared at him and commanded that Bilbo do as told, leaving him no other choice but to take the damned sword.

He could not deny in any way that the sword wasrather nice - it was light with a slightly curved blade, small enough for him to use without much discomfort, and according to Gandalf’s quick inspection, it would even glow blue in the proximity of goblins.

Nevertheless, Bilbo felt a heavy weight settle within him as he gripped the leather hilt.

The last time he’d held any sort of weaponry had been during the Dark Years of the Second Age - and memories of that time were something he’d put inside a proverbial box, spit twice on, and buried deep within his mind a long, long time ago.

To be faced suddenly with a reminder of those days were… highly unpleasant, to say the very least.

Bofur must have noticed Bilbo’s dark mood, for he stood up from the troll hoard he’d been digging around with Fili and Oin, and headed over to where Bilbo stood with a concerned frown.

“Anythin’ troubling you, Bilbo? You’re lookin’ a bit peaky.”

“No, no. I’m perfectly fine.” Bilbo replied, waving away at Bofur’s concerns with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

“It’s simply that hobbits don’t usually carry weapons - I actually think the closest thing I keep in my house to a sword is a butter knife - and it’s strange, to be suddenly given one without any preamble. Quite unnerving, I must say.”

He glanced down at his hands - soft and mellow, with the kind of calluses that one could only get from gripping a pen too firmly or spending too much time weeding the garden. They were hands that told of a gentle and peaceful way of life, unmarked by anygreat battle or grand adventure.

In short they were the hands of a hobbit, and he loved them fiercely, both for what they were and what they meant.

To hold a sword again with those hands felt terribly poetic somehow, and Bilbo tried hard not to read into the symbolism behind it. Because _that_ was just something he could not handle at the moment.

Bofur, bless his kind soul, reached out and patted Bilbo’s arm in a comforting gesture.

“Eh, don’t worry. Learnin’ to handle a sword isn’t as hard as they make out, and I’m sure the Company’ll be more than happy to teach you. Though I m’self might not be the best of teachers, seeing as how swords aren’t exactly up my alley.”

Bofur winked, pointing cheekily at the mattock slung around his shoulders, and Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at the dwarf’s lighthearted antics. Though Bofur’s words of comfort were highly off-mark, they were also very sweet, and Bilbo appreciated the effort nonetheless.

He was just about to thank Bofur for his kindness, when suddenly a chilling sound pierced the air, causing all motion in the cave to come to an abrupt halt.

Bilbo let out a low gasp of shock, for there was no mistaking that noise, however faint it may be. Only one creature could let out such a sound, and that was -

“Wargs.” Thorin growled from the entrance, eyes alert and wary as he scanned the far horizon.

There was a collective intake of breath from the Company, and in a mere instant the tension amongst them thickened tenfold. Each dwarf straightened up, reaching for their weapons instinctively and facing the entrance with varying expressions - some looked fearful and nervous, while others looked fierce and expectant.

“But what business could wargs possibly have in these lands?” Bilbo wondered, squinting as he peered toward the distance.

Thorin turned to look at him with a questioning frown, and Bilbo coughed in embarrassment, only then realizing that he had spoken out loud.

“Er, it’s just that wargs tend to roam further north. Mostly in the lands closer to Gundabad, where they were born and bred. According to what I’ve read. In books, I mean.” He added hastily. “And erm. According to those, er, books, they live where the nights are longer and winds blow harsher, and do not venture this far south, unless - ”

“Unless they are hunting. For something or someone.” Gandalf finished in a grave tone.

Bilbo noticed that Gandalf had gone very pale, and that the hand gripping the wooden staff had turned white-knuckled. It was alarming, considering how the wizard had a tendency to stay annoyingly calm in the face of distressing situations. And if Gandalf was nervous about something…

Well, now Bilbo definitely knew what the wargs were hunting after.

Gandalf turned suddenly to face Thorin, and his voice was thunderous as he near-shouted;

“Who else did you tell of this quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell!”

“No one!” Thorin shouted back. “I have told no one, I swear of it.”

Thorin and Gandalf stared at one another, hard.

Gandalf was obviously trying to decide if Thorin was indeed being truthful or not, and Thorin was glaring back furiously, as if he couldn’t believe that such an accusation was made in the first place. The staring match between the two only came to a halt when Ori tentatively asked;

“What are we supposed to do, then? Fighting the whole pack would be unwise, with so many of us injured already from the trolls. And we cannot outrun them, since the ponies have bolted.”

A loud groan arose from the Company at the less than welcome news, Bilbo himself included. He had grown quite fond of Myrtle, despite her tendency to try and eat his hair whenever possible, and wished dearly that she would not end up as a midday snack for the wargs.

“No, we cannot fight. Nor can we run.” Gandalf agreed. “At least, not without a distraction.”

“I am not leaving a single member behind.” Thorin said quickly, and there were shouts of agreement from the dwarves. “We will not run like cowards, fleeing to save our own lives at the expense of others.”

“And I am not suggesting that you do.” Gandalf replied tersely. “I had planned to meet with a friend tomorrow, since there were… important matters that I had to discuss with him. He is more than capable of drawing the wargs away, so we can wait here until he reaches us, and run while he distracts the wargs.”

“But the beasts must be less than a day away, judging from the sounds!” Cried out Bombur, who was clutching at his frying pan with a panicked expression. “We’ll probably all be killed and eaten before your friend even arrives!”

“The stench of trolls are a strong, foul thing, and it will be enough to cover our own scent for the time being. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” Asked Thorin with a low growl. “We will need a lot more than hope to get through this in one piece.”

Gandalf sighed heavily. “It is a certainly a dangerous plan, yes, but it is also the best one that we have. Unless you have a better idea, Thorin Oakenshield.”

A low grumble of defeat arose from the Company. The dwarves were obviously unhappy about Gandalf’s new plan - Bilbo suspected that they did not like the idea of sitting idle while the wargs advanced - but there were simply no other options available.

At this point, with half of them incapacitated and with no means of a fast escape, it was either wait for Gandalf’s mysterious friend with their fingers crossed, or face the wargs head on, which would very likely lead to a slow and messy death.

“And this friend of yers,” Gloin asked suddenly, eying Gandalf with suspicion. “You sure we can trust him? It’ll take a lot of skill and prowess for a single person to take on a whole pack a’ wargs.”

There was a slight pause, in which the Company looked expectantly at Gandalf, while the wizard himself just cleared his throat in what Bilbo personally thought was a highly suspicious manner.

“My friend is… odd, yes, but I would trust him with my life.”

Gandalf looked at the dwarves with an expression that clearly said that he did not wish to discuss the matter any further. And when the dwarves still looked unconvinced, he rolled his eyes and snapped;

“If you must know, my friend is a wizard - he’s Radagast the Brown, Tender of Beasts and Protector of Forests! He holds far greater power than all you lot combined, twice over, so stop doubting my decisions!” 

-

The rest of the day was spent in a tense and strained silence. The Company altercated between jumping at every single noise and sharpening their weapons with a menacing scowl, and all the while the howling of wargs grew louder and louder.

Bilbo had opted for the first watch, for his arm ached terribly and he did not think that he could get a good rest anyway. He glared moodily at the woods, ignoring the overly jumpy dwarves behind him and instead opting to sulk in solitude.

Another wizard, he thought sourly. Why did Gandalf have to bring another wizard along?

He wished dearly to confront Gandalf about the matter, or at least demand that the wizard make sure that his ‘friend’ Radagast wouldn’t try and disembowel him on sight. But Gandalf had wandered off to do who knows what, so that was no longer an option. All he could do in the moment was brood and worry himself to death about what was to come the following day.

Bilbo’s history with wizards were… complicated at best.

Oh, he was good friend with Gandalf, yes, but the same could not be said for Saruman, who had once proclaimed that Bilbo was the scum of Middle Earth and deserved a proper beheading. Obviously Saruman had not gotten his way, but Bilbo could still remember how the White Wizard had sneered down at him, like he wished to pull out a sword and cut off Bilbo’s head himself.

So it was understandable how he was a bit nervous about meeting another damned wizard.

He did not know much about Radagast the Brown, for the wizard had not participated in the War of the Second Age, and they had never crossed paths before. But he knew that not many people were so… accepting of what he was - Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel being the only real exceptions really - and there was no guarantee that Radagast would share Gandalf’s views of _free will_ and _how people could always change their ways, because fate was not something set in stone_. 

Bilbo sighed heavily. A part of him wished to abandon this whole quest and head straight back to the Shire, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not only was he bound by the contract (which was probably air-tight, considering how dwarves were experts at this kind of thing), but deep down he knew that even if he did have the choice, he wouldn’t.

Because within a matter of a few short weeks, the gaggle of dwarves had somehow managed to weasel their way into his heart, and he had grown inexplicably and undeniably fond of them all.

He liked Bombur’s appreciation for good food, Ori’s shy curiosity and Fili and Kili’s ridiculous antics. He liked Balin’s stories filled with wisdom and Dwalin’s gruff sort of acceptance, Nori’s sly streak and Dori’s overprotectiveness. He liked Bifur’s high spirits and Bofur’s steady kindness, and he liked Gloin’s fierce love for his family and Oin’s no-nonsense attitude.

He even held a grudging sort of respect for Thorin, who was undeniably a great leader and warrior, despite how he always looked at Bilbo like he smelled something bad.

Those dwarves deserved a home, he told himself firmly, and he couldn’t walk out on them now, just because he was scared of meeting a wizard.

Besides, according to some stories he’d heard back in Rivendell, this elusive Radagast fellow went around in a sled pulled by rabbits, of all things. And if that was true, this wizard couldn’t possibly be _that_ terrifying.

Because who in their right minds rode a bunny-pulled sled?

It was a comforting thought, and when Bifur came over to take the next shift, Bilbo felt a lot more at ease. Which was perhaps why when he headed inside the cave and pulled out his sleeping roll, fatigue hit him like a sledgehammer.

And so Bilbo fell into deep, dreamless sleep, even before his head hit the pillow.

-

“The wizard definitely has other plans on his mind.” Murmured Thorin, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

“The urgent business that Gandalf must discuss with this other wizard, him taking us to Rivendell - it must all be connected.”

“Or perhaps he is simply leading us to Rivendell to decipher the map, as he explained to us. And this impromptu meet-up with the Radagast fellow could be unrelated to it all. It could all just be a coincidence.” Replied Balin from across the fire.

Thorin just gave him a look, and Balin sighed in a sign of unspoken agreement. Both he and Thorin knew too much of the world to write this off as a simple coincidence.

Things never happened without a reason. Never.

The two were sitting a distance from the rest of the Company, in the deeper parts of the cave where the smell of trolls were near putrid. The only closest figure to them was Bilbo, who had somehow managed to roll a few feet towards them while sleeping, and was now situated between the Company and where Thorin and Balin sat.

Balin leaned towards Bilbo to make sure that he was indeed asleep, and sighed in relief when the hobbit gave a light snore and an indistinguishable mumble.

Satisfied, Balin continued in a hushed voice. “But we cannot force Gandalf to tell his secrets. What means do we have against a wizard? Two wizards, if this… Radagast does indeed arrive tomorrow.” 

“I will not have lies and schemes within my Company. I cannot risk it.” Thorin said darkly.

“But you are right in that our hands are tied for now. For the time being have no choice but to accept the wizard’s antics. I shall order Nori to keep a closer eye on Gandalf, try to listen in on his conversation with the new wizard tomorrow, if possible.”

“And Rivendell?”

“I don’t see a choice.” Thorin sighed, rubbing at his temples tiredly. “We’ve lost our food and ponies, and the Company does need a place to recuperate. Many of them are wounded, and they will need some place to heal in peace.”

Balin noticed that Thorin’s gaze flickered to the hobbit as he spoke.

Ah. Well, that was another matter he’d have to discuss with his king.

Balin cleared his throat, for his next words would have to be spoken with as much care as possible.

“Our burglar.” He said in the most neutral tone he could manage. “He seems to be a quick thinker, with how he stalled for time back there with the trolls. If it weren’t for him we’d have ended up as the trolls’ dinner, and that would have been the end of the whole quest.”

Thorin’s eyes flicked back quickly to meet Balin’s, as though he was surprised to be caught staring at Bilbo, and when he replied his voice carried more gruffness than necessary.

“It doesn’t change the fact that he’s useless in battle. I’ve seen him attempt to throw those pebbles at the trolls. It was pitiful, at best.”

“Not all of us start out as great warriors, Thorin.” Balin said gently. “And given time, I’m sure Bilbo will learn. He’s a fast learner; I’ve seen him take very quickly to the ponies.”

Thorin gave a huff as he reached out to stoke the fire. “You seem strangely intent on getting the burglar on my good graces, Balin”

“I’ve known you for a long, long while, laddie.” Balin answered, putting as much care into his words as he could.

“And I think I can tell that our little burglar is already on your… good graces. If you know what I mean.”

He threw a meaningful look at Thorin.

Thorin glared back, and Balin noticed that the stick in Thorin’s hand, which he had been using to poke at the fire, was now in danger of being broken in half.

“Whatever you are insinuating right now - you are misguided. Terribly.” Thorin grit out.

“Oh, I’m not insinuating anything.” Balin said hastily, though in truth that was exactly what he’d been doing.

Balin knew when to pick his battles - years and years spent at the diplomatic table had taught him that - and he realized that he would not win this particular battle. The main reason being that he knew that Thorin could be as stubborn as Mahal above, if he wished so.

And apparently matters concerning a certain hobbit was one that Thorin was intent on denying to the bitter ends of Middle Earth and back, even if it was painfully obvious to anyone with common sense.

“Well, if that's the case, then we’d better start discussing other matters.” Balin said smoothly, after a slight pause.

Thorin eyed him suspiciously, fist still clenched around the stick, but he didn’t comment further. And the two dwarves spent the rest of the day discussing many things; the fastest path from Rivendell to Erebor, contingency plans in case the dragon happened to be alive, the quickest way to reach Dain once they got their hands the Arkenstone, and such.

All the while, their hobbit burglar slept away a mere few feet from where they sat, shifting and mumbling but never once waking.

And if Thorin’s gaze flicked back towards the sleeping figure now then, Balin knew better than to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know dwarves and elves don't like each other, but maybe in that wasn't the case until later in the Third Age..? Also I kind of really liked the idea that elves would commission some of the more intricate crafts to the dwarves in exchange of precious gems.  
> Also I took out the part where the blades in the troll caves are elvish because... I forgot, to be honest hehe.
> 
> (+) I totally ripped out the 'binding' from the norse mythology of Gleipnir. Link here: https://norse-mythology.org/tales/the-binding-of-fenrir/


End file.
